


A Matter Of Timing

by bendingsignpost



Series: Tumblr Fic [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Gen, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 00:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15498198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: While waiting to pick Sam up from class, Dean gets distracted by a piece of performance art.





	A Matter Of Timing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rachelindeed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelindeed/gifts).



> [educatedinyellow](https://educatedinyellow.tumblr.com/)  asked:  
> A Destiel ficlet prompt: Cas does performance art. Dean first encounters him when he is honest to god performing John Cage's 4 33.

Keeping his feet on the curb and his eyes on his phone, Dean successfully buys the tickets without knocking into anyone–not always an easy thing to do on Sam’s campus.  _Movie’s at 5,_ he texts.  _Swear to god, your class better get out on time._

The wait itself could be worse. It’s a bright spring day, and Sam’s last class of the day is held in the building next to the music department, which means the piano is outside again. There’s a happy sort of ditty coming from it as Dean approaches. Nothing he’d ever pick himself, but kinda nice. Dean shoulders his way into the circle crowded around the instrument just as the song ends, and the first pianist swaps out with a second. 

Dean checks his watch. 4:28. Sam’s class supposedly lets out at 4:30. He’s got time. 

So too, apparently, does the pianist. He sits down without sheet music, armed only with a look of intense concentration. It fits his face well, far better than the blue suit jacket fits his shoulders. He holds his hands aloft over the keys with a sudden and decisive motion... and pauses. 

The circled crowd waits. Beyond the wall of observers, students and pedestrians pass by, noisy with speech and footsteps. A light breeze ruffles the pianist’s dark hair, not that it needs the help. 

Dean checks his phone. Still no response from Sam. 

Still no music from the musician. 

“Get on with it already!” heckles one guy a bit younger than Sam. Shorter, at least. 

The cluster of music students around the piano shoot the guy a dirty look, but the pianist doesn’t move. Dean pulls out of the ring of observers and circles around the other way. As if following his lead, more people from the crowd pull away, never to rejoin. It suits Dean well enough, giving him a spot close to the piano, near enough to see the guy’s face and motionless hands, his entire profile. 

The pianist closes his eyes. He tilts his head. 

Dean cocks his head to the side, but all he hears is distant traffic, close muttering, and a swarm of footsteps. He closes his eyes too. If he strains for it, he can vaguely hear the beeping of a crosswalk. Then he hears a more familiar buzz. 

Dean checks his phone again. It’s 4:30, and Sam swears he’s packing up and leaving the class right now. 

When he looks up, the pianist is looking at him. Staring at him. 

Dean puts his phone away.

The man keeps staring. 

Slowly, the pianist flexes his hands. He shifts his shoulders. He lifts his chin. He closes his eyes again.

Frowning, Dean leans in. What isn’t he hearing?

More of the crowd wanders away. Other parts of it heckle. “Dude, shut up!” Dean shouts, because the pianist is very clearly doing  _something_. He’s nodding almost imperceptibly, keeping time to something. His hands are poised, his body posed, and he’s doing  _something_  with all his focus. 

Dean just has no idea what. 

The pianist looks at him again. He smiles very faintly. 

At this point, Dean is kind of just watching the guy breathe, and he’s not sure he minds. 

The pianist straightens his shoulders. He looks back at his instrument. His hands nearly come down. And again. The entire remaining crowd leans in. People elbow each other in the sides to look up from their phones. 

“Dean! Over here!”

Dean turns. 

He spots Sam. 

And hears a sudden slap of notes too quick to call music. 

He turns back, and the musician is already walking away. Reflexively, Dean takes a step after him, if only to ask what the _hell_ that was.  

“Hey!” Sam says again, jogging up to him and grabbing him by the shoulder. “C’mon, don’t give me that look. It’s only 4:33.”

**Author's Note:**

> John Cage's 4'33" is four minutes thirty-three seconds of silence, the performance of which can range from meditative to a complete trolling of the audience. Coincidentally, it's the only song I know how to play on an egg timer. 
> 
> To see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](https://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


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